Life After You
by Kari Kurofai
Summary: The war was over for ten years before Dean Winchester finally found Castiel’s grace, and was killed when he did. Reborn without his memories he watches the student at the Catholic College across from his high school, wondering why he seems so familiar.
1. Chapter 1

**Life After You: Just Trying To Get Home**

Aannnnddd . . . I accidentally posted the unedited version of this yesterday, so if you were unfortunate enough to see the silly (ADD) where Lisa's name should be, forgive me. ;_;

The Impala stalled just about ten miles from Dean's destination, and he cursed, slamming his palms against the horn and causing it to blare loudly across the empty midnight highway. He let his head fall down to rest on the steering wheel with an overly exaggerated sigh, his eyes closing and his mouth twisting into a frustrated frown. "Come on, baby," he whispered, "Don't do this to me today . . ." The plead went up in vain as he twisted the key in the ignition again, and the car merely gave a sputtering whine of protest, to which Dean replied with an exasperated groan.

It was hardly the first time his precious Impala had failed him in the last few years, it was just getting to old. And Bobby hadn't given it as good of a tuning as he used since he'd been stuck in a wheelchair, and Dean wouldn't ask it of him. With another long drawn-out sigh, he climbed out of the drivers seat, closing the door behind him in his normal careful demeanor when it came to his baby, even though he wanted to do nothing but kick it at the moment. He leaned against the vehicle, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his leather jacket and stared out at the empty road in front of him.

There wouldn't be anyone else to get a ride from at this time of night, and he wouldn't leave the car behind either, god forbid. After a few moments of internal debate his fingers closed around his cell phone and he drew it out, flicking it open and closed in contemplation before he dropped it back into his pocket, replacing it with a pack of cigarettes against his palm. Ten years ago he would have loathed the idea of himself turning into a smoker, but it had joined his growing group of unfavorable habits after the Apocalypse. But it helped him forget, kind of like beer, so he didn't really care what the hell other people thought of him after he got that into his head.

Although, Lisa really hated it, and that was troubling, but he pushed it to the back of his mind. It's not like he smoked inside around Ben or anything, he wasn't that stupid, and he only took a drag when he was either insanely bored, or just simply remembering.

He turned his eyes towards the sky, scanning the empty, silent stars with glazed eyes for a long moment before he looked away from them again. That had become a habit as well, and one he could not get rid of as easily as leaving his pack of cigarettes behind. It was a useless motion, and he knew that. But after everything he'd been through he couldn't help but look heavenwards, his eyes would simply stray there every now and then. Thought the stars lacked what he was looking for, and the very thought made his heart shudder with guilt and long worn down grief.

Even now, he still expected to be sitting in his Impala one day, or brushing his teeth, or simply laying in bed and hear a familiar voice say, _"Hello Dean,"_ in that infuriating, completely unexpected way that had turned into almost a comfort for him during the Apocalypse. A comfort that could never be regained, unlike the very replaceable pack of cigarettes in his pocket.

He let out a long puff of smoke, watching it disperse and curl up in near invisible wisps towards the stars, vanishing into the night sky. Now that he'd allowed his mind to dwell on it, he couldn't get it to leave, much to his annoyance. But then again he'd always been bad at banishing the worst of his memories, so it came as no surprise that this one would not be any different.

_His feet slipped in the pools of blood as he rushed forward and fell to his knees by the unearthly still form of the angel, his hands gently, rapidly touching each gaping wound in succession. "Cass," his voice shook, "Cass, answer me, damn it!"_

_The angel blinked open clouded blue eyes to stare up at him, "I'm sorry . . ."_

"_Hey, hey, you have nothing to be sorry for buddy. Nothing," Dean shushed him, pressing his palm to the wound on his chest to try and stop the flow of crimson blood._

_Castiel shook his head, pushing the hand away, "Don't-"_

"_You're losing too much blood, Cass!" Dean snapped, "Why don't you just heal yourself already?!" he pressed his hand to the wound again, eyes narrowed and his eyebrows furrowing together._

"_I can't, Dean," Castiel's voice was barely a whisper as he spoke, and Dean's eyes widened at the words. "I'm not an angel anymore, Dean."_

"_Yes you are," Dean insisted. "Yes you are! You can do that 'poof' thing and I was able to banish you with the sigil and-"_

"_I've been falling for a very long time now, Dean," Castiel murmured, once again pushing his hand away from the wound. _

"_Why?" It was a simple question, and Dean couldn't help but ask it, biting his lip._

_Castiel merely looked at him without a word, a small smirk flickering across his normally stoic face. "Cass, don't . . ." Dean whispered, anguish clear in his eyes. "Don't do this to me! We need you! Lucifer-" He cut himself off, "I need you Cass! I can't do this on my own! Answer me!" But Castiel was silent, and his fogged blue eyes had turned as lifeless as glass. "Cass!"_

Dean sighed, trying for the millionth time in the last ten years to form a smoke ring as he exhaled, to no avail. His shoulders hunched, and he slumped against the driver's side door of the Impala as he tossed his cigarette butt to the ground, stamping it out with a frown before he took another from his pocket., lighting it up. His fingers hit his cell as he put the pack back in his leather jacket, and he hesitated a long moment before he pulled it out and stared at it with a dazed look.

Adam had been asleep when his cell phone went off where he'd left it on the dusty motel room desk a few feet away, and he rolled over and pressed his face into the pillow with a growl of annoyance. "Sam, get the fucking phone!"

"That's you're ring-tone, hell no," Sam muttered from the other bed, and Adam snarled a muffled curse into the pillow before he flung the blankets off, walking over to grab the thing of the desk.

He glanced at the ID with a scowl, "Yeah, well it's your brother," he snorted.

"Your brother too. And your phone," Sam mumbled almost incoherently, and he let out a huff of surprise as Adam sat down on his bed to answer it, laying across his stomach and forcing all the air out of him.

"Dean, it's four in the morning here, what the hell," Adam said, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Hello to you too, and it's midnight here, what else is new?" Dean said on the other end, and Adam frowned once more.

"Are you smoking again? You're going to get cancer that way," he warned, smirking as Sam struggled to push him off, to little avail as Adam was just as heavy as him now, and almost the same height too.

"I didn't call to get a lecture," Dean muttered.

"And I didn't want to get woken up in the middle of the night," Adam retorted, "Woohoo. Now what do you want?"

"Adam!" Sam hissed, finally scrambling out from under him and shooting him a warning glare.

"Fine, Sam says to ask nicely, so dear brother, what can I do for you at this ungodly hour?" Adam asked, rolling his eyes as Sam shook his head.

"I . . ." Dean hesitated, forgetting for a moment what exactly he'd wanted to ask. "I know this is a stupid thing to ask, but I figured if anyone would know, it'd be you. What . . . What happens to angels when they die?"

Adam remained silent for a painfully long moment, before folding his legs underneath him with a sidelong glance at Sam, "You're asking me because I was Michael's vessel?" Sam flinched beside him, though there was no malice in the younger man's voice. Adam grew quiet again, and Sam could almost see the gears of his brain turning the question over and over, "I don't know, Dean. Michael never had to worry about dying, so he didn't think about it much. I just know that wherever they went, it wasn't heaven."

He could almost hear Dean's shudder at the last part, "Then do they-"

"God would never let them go to hell, Dean," Adam said softly, "That I know for certain. But for all I know, maybe they don't go anywhere. Maybe they just . . . Vanish." He glanced at Sam for a moment for a second time, watching the other's green eyes on him, "Is this about Castiel?" Once again, Sam flinched noticeably, and he knew that he'd said the wrong thing.

"No," Dean's harsh, quick answer told him enough, and he didn't pursue the subject.

"So, when are you gonna come out huntin' with us again?" Adam asked, moving the phone away from his ear and switching it to speaker, lying it down on the bedspread. The youngest brother lay down beside it, splaying out on his stomach with an uncertain look at Sam again. He'd never gotten along as well with Dean as he did with the middle Winchester, and always felt at a loss for what to say. But Sam usually came through with his little clues and ticks that told him if what he was saying was pushing too far.

"That again?" Dean sighed, "You know I'm done with that shit, squirt."

"But you helped us with that vampire nest in-"

"Because you were still a rookie and there were ten of them," the oldest brother said mockingly. "Don't ask again. Now, how's my Sammy?"

Adam smiled, glancing at Sam again, "He bought a cute little dolly last week."

"A _voodoo_ doll," Sam muttered, eyes narrowing, and I only got it to get rid of that witch we where after."

Dean snickered on the other end, "Excuses, excuses. Just make sure he stays off the drugs and eats his veggies. Oh, and goes to the occasional strip club."

Sam snorted, rolling onto his side and peering at the number lit up on the screen, "You're calling from your cell," he said offhandedly, curiosity and worry getting the better of him.

There was silence on the other end, and Sam knew that Dean was carefully choosing his words, "I . . . Got stuck," Dean said slowly, "The Impala broke down."

Dean held the phone back from his ear as Sam let out a string of curses at him, "Okay, okay! You know I can't take it to Bobby anymore, and I'm not letting my baby get handled by anyone else."

"Dean . . ."

"I know! Look, I'm ten miles from Lisa's house, and I'll call her in the morning, okay?"

"Why not just call her now?" Sam asked, and Dean frowned as he heard Adam muttering something along the eyes of _"Stop while you can, stop while you can"_ which Sam apparently was ignoring.

"I don't want to wake her," Dean lied. He chewed on his lip as Sam sighed audibly and Adam let out a bark of laughter, "Look, I just need some time to think, okay?"

There was a puff of noise and Dean knew that Adam had leaned over the phone again to make himself heard, "Don't think too hard, Dean," he said softly, earning a raised eyebrow from Sam. "Castiel-"

"Don't," Dean interrupted, trying to cut him off.

"No, listen to me for a moment, Dean," Adam snapped. "I know it's cheesy, and I know it's a chick-flick moment, god forbid. But Castiel died happy because he'd protected _you_. You were everything to him, you idiot. And sulking and smoking your life away is not the way to make up for all that he did for you."

Dean narrowed his eyes, "You're right. It doesn't make up for it. But you know what, nothing I can do ever will!" He snapped the phone closed before Adam could retort, throwing it against the blacktop with a snarl of frustration before he fell back against the Impala again, sliding down to the ground.

He pressed his forehead against his knees, wishing he hadn't just smashed his cell so he could check the time. "Maybe I should hunt," he mumbled, grinding his cigarette into the road until the embers disappeared, "It might take my mind of things." He sighed, raising bleary eyes to the sky, tracing out patterns among the stars. "What do you think, Cass?" He waited with baited breath as though he expected an answer from the lifeless stars above before he let it out, shaking his head. "Oh, that's right, you're dead. You can't give me stupid advice anymore."

The ex-hunter blinked as a star streaked by overhead, lighting up the dark night for a brief instant before it vanished over the horizon.

"_A star fell-"_

"_You choose to fall the earth-"_

"_Wait, I don't understand. So angels can just become . . . Human?"_

Dean scrambled to his feet, throwing the car door open and climbing inside, his eyes trained on the horizon the star had vanished behind. "Cass . . ." He willed the car to start, and whooped in relief as it puttered back to life and he kicked it into gear. The Impala tore down the empty highway, and Dean leaned over the wheel with determined eyes. Glancing at the amount of gas in the tank. Hopefully, (ADD) wouldn't worry to much, he had a feeling he'd be out just a little while longer.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

Dawn light was just starting to creep up over the buildings and trees when Dean pulled the car up alongside a towering ash. The ground around it was singed and still red with fading embers, torn with long gashing marks in the soil where the roots had sprung up. It was an empty plot of land, and Dean had no doubt that the town would be very surprised to find the tree in a few hours, but for now he stood alone a few feet from it. It had to be, there was no other explanation, really. This was what remained as some angel's grace.

Hesitantly, he reached out a hand to touch the bark of the tree as though he was afraid he'd be burned. But the surface was as cool as water, and he rested his palm fully against it, his skin tingling. "Cass-" he paused, not sure _how_ he knew that this was that particular angel's grace, just that he did.

"Well, well, well . . ." The oldest Winchester jumped as an amused voice startled him out of his thoughts, whirling around to see an unfamiliar woman standing behind him. She had her hands in her pockets, her long blond hair hanging casually over her right shoulder as she tilted her head to the side to stare at him. "It's been a long time since we've seen Dean Winchester out and about. He's too coward to play with us anymore, hmm?"

Dean pressed his back to the tree as her eyes flickered over with black, "Oh hell . . ."

"Oh hell is right," she smirked, "You've found some poor fallen angel's grace, and that's just too bad. Because, you see . . ." She turned to gaze at her bright purple nails with a bored expression, "Angel grace is quite a prize for someone like me."

"You touch Cass's grace and I'll-"

"Castiel's?" the woman smiled innocently, "Well that would be quite a catch indeed. The most loyal angel I ever met. That means it'll be extra tasty." Her steps were slow and controlled as she paced towards him, eyes as black as night, "I'm going to have to kill you now, Dean."

Dean growled, pressing himself back against the tree even more, his heels digging into the scorched ground, "Go ahead. But you're not getting the grace, bitch." He had a gun in the car, but it had become less and less of a habit to carry one right on his person since he'd stopped hunting, and he cursed himself for such a foolish mistake.

"And who'll stop me?" she raised a hand, flicking her fingers in his direction and watched as he opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, fighting for air. "Death by suffocation is quite messy, did you know?" she smiled, shifting her fingers again, "Or what about a nice hemorrhage?" Dean gasped in a mouthful of air before he coughed, a spat of blood landing on the base of the tree. The woman clenched her fingers against her palm, "Or maybe I'll just squeeze your heart until it stops beating. That's my favorite." Dean choked again, more blood dripping out of his mouth and onto his shirt, one hand rising to clench in the newly stained cloth on his chest with a groan of pain, the other remaining on the bark of the tree. "Your angel's gone, Dean. Your brother is miles away. There's no one to save you now," she sneered, tightening her fist and making him let out a harsh scream, blood beginning to create a new stain on his shirt from his rupturing heart.

"I . . . Don't want to be saved anymore," Dean muttered, the hand against the trunk of the tree shaking and growing pale. "But if you even think that you'll be able to touch this tree now that you've spilled my blood on it, you've got another thing coming."

She narrowed her eyes, "Your blood will do you no good. There's no spell on it." with her free hand, she reached out to demonstrate, tapping the ash once, "See? I-" her words were cut off with a shriek as the tree lit up with fire, consuming her body in an inferno while Dean remained untouched, slumped against the base of the tree.

He watched with heavy eyes as she vanished into the flames, his breath coming in small gasps, "Don't need a spell. You hurt me, and Cass'd know. Even if it is just his grace . . ." Dean leaned back against the tree as the fire vanished as quickly as it had come, the demon that had stood there a moment before nowhere to be seen. He couldn't feel his heartbeat, and his head was starting to feel fuzzy and light like the time he'd gotten high back in senior year. He wished he hadn't broken his cell so he could text Lisa and Sam an apology, but he dismissed the thought from his mind. It hurt to think. But strangely enough, nothing else really hurt at all anymore. It reminded him of the odd wash of calm that had settled over him when the hellhounds had finished ripping him apart.

_Oh . . . _He thought dazedly, staring up at the rising sun, _I'm dying . . ._

Sam growled in frustration as he got Dean's voicemail for the hundredth time in the last few hours. After his older brother's outburst at Adam he hadn't answered his phone at all, and as per usual, Sam was starting to panic. Adam lay on his stomach on the older brother's bed, having given up on trying to calm him. "Sam-"

"You shouldn't have pushed him, Adam!" Sam snapped, whirling on him and grabbing his half-sibling by the neck of his shirt, hauling him up until they were eye to eye.

"Sam-" he started, eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Don't you _Sam_ me with that look! What if he went and did something reckless and stupid!"

"Then he did something reckless and stupid! That's just what Dean does!" Adam retorted.

Sam snarled in fury, and Adam flinched back, struggling in his grip as the older Winchester's cell went off in his free hand. "Dean! Where have you-"

"Sam! Oh thank god I reached you, I had to get your number from Bobby and-"

For a moment Sam didn't recognize the female voice on the other end, and he let out a sigh as he did, "Wait Lisa, slow down, slow down. What's-"

"Dean's . . ." Lisa faltered, an audible sob echoing through the receiver and making Sam stiffen. "Oh god, Sam . . . They found him in this old lot near this tree and . . . There was so much blood . . ."

Adam's eyes widened as Sam clenched the phone so hard in his hand that it shattered, a spark of fear rising in him. But surprisingly the older man let him go, and Adam slumped down onto the mattress again. "What happened to Dean?" he whispered, but Sam's hardened eyes were enough of an answer.

Ben was sitting in the kitchen when the phone rang, and he looked up from his laptop where he was going through the newspapers of multiple states, checking odd weather patterns and mysterious deaths with a lazy glance. He reached for it and tucked it between his shoulder and ear as he skimmed an article about a secretary that had vanished two months ago. "Hello?"

"Hey, Ben, is your mom home?" the eighteen year old recognized Bobby's voice immediately and sat up straighter. It had been a month since Dean had died, and he'd started diligently looking for signs that would lead him to find his uncles that had gone missing shortly after, any hunts they may have followed.

"No, she's at work," Ben informed, turning away from the computer with a flash of dread, "Is something wrong?"

"A buddy of mine found them," Bobby said slowly, as though hesitant to give the details to someone so young, "In the middle of a nest of demons. Ben . . . Sam and Adam . . . They had sigils carved into their body and were bleed to death."

Ben swallowed, "They rushed in-"

"They were broken and grieving, Ben," Bobby whispered, "Every hunter does it at some point. Even me. Their father especially. Sam and Adam just didn't live through it like the rest of us. Not even sure if they wanted to."

The boy shook his head, tears welling in his eyes, but he remained silent until Bobby hung up without further explanation, and he let the phone fall to the floor, fisting his fingers into his hair with a mumbled curse.

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

Yah, I know, the question is "where the hell are you going with this?" good question mon ami's, good question. Listen to the songs "Life after You" by Daughtry and "In Another Life" by The Veronicas. That should tell you all you need to know, and both songs are from Dean's POV. This first chappy was written just after the 100th ep, so I'm doing a lot of assuming, and whatever gets revealed after 5x18 will probably not relate to this little thing, so ignore it when it comes to this.

Also, raise your hands if you're totally opposed to the pair of Sam/Adam please. I need to know how much of it I can add later on. Lol. (I will not have none, because after 5x18, I became the lone fan. I want to call it Samdam. Ahahahaha.)

And as to a hint for the next chapter, don't you think it's weird that Ash couldn't find John and Mary in heaven? What if they're not there at all? What if they're . . . dun dun duuuuuhhnnn . . . On earth? Again, listen to the songs listed above. Major plot detailies.

If anyone is interested in beta-ing this thing, give me a holler, kay?


	2. Chapter 2

**Life After You: Summer Sunshine**

Dean Winchester was named after his great grandfather, at least that was what he was told. Apparently they looked alike, though that was of little mind to him, being only thirteen. But his grandfather Ben was fond of telling him so, and he would simply smirk in reply, saying that his good looks got him all the ladies. And Ben would just shake his head, ruffling the Dean's hair fondly until he squirmed and begged him to stop, as it was messing up his _do_.

His parents were John and Mary Winchester, and more than once he caught his grandfather looking at them with genuine amazement in his eyes, though Dean couldn't understand why. One time he saw a picture of his mother in father in one of Ben's old photo albums, but it had seemed rather old to him, though the couple in the picture appeared to be the same age as John and Mary were presently. It baffled Dean, but he did not question it. After all, he was all too familiar with the computer programs used to alter pictures, it was probably just that.

There were other old pictures that perked his interest, and he often asked his grandfather to explain them to him. A few of his namesake and his brother who bore the same name as his own, some of Ben's mother and an older man in a wheelchair talking, and one of a small group of people that was his personal favorite, though it was the only one in the album that his grandfather wouldn't discuss. The man in the wheelchair was in it, the two brothers so similar to himself and his own baby brother, two women he did not recognize from any other pictures, and a dark haired man in a trench coat. This final figure was the one Dean was fascinated by, but Ben remained silent when questioned about him.

His mother however, would humor him when he asked if she knew anything about the nameless man, taking him onto her lap while he was still small and telling him it was his own personal guardian angel. But Dean, being Dean, didn't accept the answer at it's face value, and continued to glance at the old and wearing photograph whenever he was at his grandfather's house, tracing the outlines of each person in it until he reached the mysterious 'angel.'

Dean was one of three children in the Winchester household, all boys, much to the grievance of his mother. But John Winchester loved it, taking at least one day off of work a week to take them out somewhere and let their mother have some rest. Dean's favorite thing was going hunting where his father would dutifully teach him the right way to hold and fire a rifle. He had yet to take home his own catch, but that didn't mean he hadn't tried, unlike Sam, who quailed at the sight of blood.

Sam was the middle child who brought home straight A's and was taking courses in the sixth grade rather than the second grade work he should be doing at his age. He was not as fond of guns or girls as his older brother was, and much preferred to curl up with a history book or a volume of maps on the sofa any day. But even though he was so phenomenally different from his older sibling, it was Dean he ran to when plagued by nightmares of blood, fire, and yellow eyes. And Dean would tease him for it, but hold him tight all the same, whispering soft reassurances until he fell back asleep.

The newest member of their little family was Adam, barely six months old, and already Sam had taken up his long await position of being a big brother while Dean stood idly by, not too concerned with the baby, but not entirely indifferent to him either. Let Sammy dote on him, he had other things to worry about in life.

Like the fact that he'd caught his father sneaking out of the house late at night on more than one occasion. Dean had seen enough soap opera's to guess as what his John was doing, and he didn't like it one bit. He'd contemplated letting his mother know, but he just as often found that she wasn't home when he returned from school, and that Sam and Adam had been left alone for over an hour, and he hated that even more than his father's sneaking around. What if something had happened to them when no one was home? Sam was still too young to defend himself like Dean could, and it made the oldest brother feel off balance to think of what could have happened if he hadn't gotten home when he did.

He'd started skipping his seventh period to come home a little before Sam did, and after a few days or so he realized that his mother left Adam alone for almost a half hour before Sam ever reached the front step, and that made him even more mad. So he would leave halfway through sixth period so that neither of his brothers had to be alone for more than a few precious minutes.

Sam hardly noticed the subtle change in their routine, and since their mother did not get home until dinner time she failed to catch the calls about Dean being absent from his last two classes. She questioned him on his gradually dropping grades, but he tried his best to keep up with his homework while balancing Adam against his chest and making sure Sam was within eyesight. He wouldn't question his parents on their strange actions, but it worried him all the same.

John and Marry had always taken care of them before, he had no reason to think that they would suddenly stop. Whatever they did when they were out of sight Dean tried to believe was for their children's inevitable benefit.

Summer was just begging when John had come home unusually late one night, and Dean had just barely caught sight of his rumpled, torn, and bloodstained shirt before his mother ushered him out of sight into the bathroom. His previous thoughts of an affair were banished then, unless his lover was some kind of knife wielding psycho, and he began to contemplate underground mafia wars, like in his favorite video game. But that idea was just as quickly dismissed. When his father reappeared the next morning it was to ask him if he'd be all right looking after the house and his brothers for a few days on his own. And Dean was confident that he would be, he practically did it now as it was.

He tried not to be too concerned when he discovered a scribbled note the day after and a list of emergency numbers taped to the fridge, both his mother and father gone without so much as a goodbye hug. But his father had said it would only be for a few days, so he decided to believe him and go about his life as he usually did.

Adam awoke sometime around six every morning like clockwork, hungry and screaming. Sam was forced awake by the noise not too long after, and would stumble out into the kitchen close to seven, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he watched Dean pacing across the tile floor, Adam in one arm, a warm bottle of formula in the other. He would diligently pour himself a bowl of Fruit Loops without spilling, which was a relief to Dean since he hated picking up food off the floor, and did enough of that with Adam starting to eat canned baby food.

Mornings after breakfast was taken care of were spent camped out in front of the television, a series of road maps spread out over the carpet in front of Sam, Adam chewing on some plastic blocks in his playpen in the middle of the room, and Dean snoring on the couch. Sam tried his best not to disturb him, knowing that his brother got little to no sleep at night with their parents in and out at all hours, and an almost nightly dream that made his brother awake in a breathless state, though Sam did not question him on it. He was reluctant to reveal the contents of his own dreams, and did not relish in the thought of what his fearless brother's might hold.

Afternoons were spent out in the yard where Sam could play as long as he was within Dean's line of sight. Adam was allowed to crawl around on a blanket Dean spread out on the porch, just as long as he stayed in the cool shade of the structure. Sometimes Sam could even convince his older brother to play with him, the classic game of monster that involved Dean chasing the smaller boy around the yard until he caught him, pretending to eat him up while Sam squealed in delight.

Nights involved a file folder of takeout menus since Dean's skill's in cooking were strongly lacking, or a trip to the connivance store down the road to buy some microwave dinners if they couldn't agree on food to order in. then Dean would put Adam to bed, by eight, and Sam by nine, he himself sitting in front of the TV until the sun rose without a hitch, only then allowing himself to doze off.

So it was that a few days turned into a week. And then two. Sam, young as he was, did not have the time to think about missing his suddenly absent parents, and Adam might as well have forgotten them entirely, Dean wasn't sure how the mind of someone so young worked. But he was unsettled by their lateness. The cash they'd left was starting to run out, and he did not have high hopes on how long the credit card would hold out, and that was what worried him more than anything. He'd started to return home with more an more long lasting groceries when he took his brothers up the convenience store, preparing for the possible fact that the money might run out, and thus would their food supply. And he couldn't apply for a job, it would mean having to leave his siblings alone for too long, besides the fact that he was still a few years too young.

After the first week he'd picked the lock on the small toolbox under the bed where his father kept his handgun, and had hidden it where neither Adam, or Sam, could reach on top of the fridge. A place where Dean could reach it should the need arise. While Adam napped and Sam watched TV after lunch he snooped around to see if he could find other such stashes around the house. It was in this way that he discovered the strange markings under the carpet around each of their beds. Large circles that must have been made years ago, as the carpet had been securely tacked down until Dean had decided to rip it up. He looked up a few of the unusual characters on the family computer only to have the search result in information about demons and protective sigils. And that was just a load of crap in his opinion. At least, that's why he tried to tell himself. He tacked the carpet back down the next day, making sure nothing was out of place as he did so.

It was on one of their many trips to the store up the street that he first grew wary of anyone outside his own household, well, at least more so that he already had been. He was buying a large bag of salt because one of the websites he'd read had said that that was the best thing for keeping ghosts at bay, though he wasn't really sure what to make of the whole matter yet. But his parents had their reasons for what they did, and if they placed a protective sigil around each of their children's beds, then he had to keep his guard up.

The man at the counter looked at him oddly as he lifted the eight pound bag up onto the checkout, almost falling over from the weight of it, Adam screaming in delight from where he was strapped across the older boy's back. The salt was placed in a plastic grocery bag and set before him with the rest of his purchases, but the clerk's eyes lingered on him for far too long for Dean's liking. It was as the oldest Winchester was taking one last sidelong look at the man that he noticed it, an unmistakable flash of black in the eyes that were normally a brilliant green.

He hurried them home, locking the door behind him. Dinner was a hasty, hurried affair after which he put both Adam and Sam in his own bed, sitting with them while they slept without a care all night, the handgun resting on the bedpost.

The paperboy first noticed something was amiss when the boy who usually came to get the paper at a certain house did not answer the door when he knocked. Usually he'd knock and leave the paper on the doorstep, hanging back just to make sure that the middle school age child came out to pick it up before he continued on his route. But no such event played out that day, and that made him more concerned than he was comfortable with, though he tried to dispel the feeling. Even so, he took a moment to linger on the porch of the place, his hand on the oaken door before he drew away, wincing as a splinter of wood lodged in his palm, leaving a faint streak of blood on it's surface. He muttered his annoyance at the aging house before he went on his way, sucking the splinter out with a frown.

Dean watched him go with suspicious eyes from an upstairs window, though he had never had any reason to trust the paperboy before. In fact, this was the first time he'd had the chance to see the teenager up close. But as far as he could tell the other's eyes had remained a normal shade of shocking blue. He tried to calm his sudden paranoia to little avail and did not allow his brothers to leave the safety of the bed except to go to the bathroom for the rest of the day.

And he was glad he had done so when he caught sight of the man who had rung up his groceries the night before coming up the walkway in a casual way that pissed Dean off. He gripped the handgun tight in hand as he watched him, scrutinizing his every move. The man moved as though t knock on the door, and Dean felt a flare of surprise as he drew back with a start, as though burned. He tried a few more times to touch the door, but failed, finally taking a step back to glare up at Dean with eyes as black as night. Dean flinched, holding his position in the window though his body pumped with adrenaline telling him to flee. The man had known he had been watching, and when Dean blinked, he was gone.

It was then that he began to really panic, rushing downstairs to grab a jug of water and a few boxes of crackers that he stuffed under the bed with strict instructions to Sam to stay put and not to let Adam wander away before he went around the house making sure all the windows were securely locked. Though he realized that that would do very little after he heard a resounding crash from the living room.

With a startled cry he found himself thrown up against the wall behind him and he nearly dropped the gun. Almost, but not quite, and he tightened his fingers around it as the store clerk strode into sight, one hand bleeding from where he'd smashed it through the window one room over. Dean stared at him for a long second before he raised the gun and fired, hitting the man in the chest dead center. For a brief moment he thought that would be the end of it as the man staggered bag, blood welling up from the wound, a hope that was quickly squashed when the dark eyes almost immediately were glued to him again, a sneer forming on the man's face.

"Can't kill a demon with that, kid," he hissed, taking a step forward and flicking his wrist, causing the gun to whirl out of Dena's grasp and across the room, skidding across the carpet to smash against the wall.

_Demon_. The word was almost foreign to Dean's lips, and he scowled at him in reply, defiance clear in his eyes. The man laughed, a cold, gravely laugh that made the hair on Dean's arms stand on end, "You really are him, aren't you. I doubt you remember, but we've met before, you and I. But it was quite awhile ago. And you were a man, and not a snot nosed squirt."

"I think I would have remembered if I'd met an ugly fuck like you," Dean said coolly.

The demon merely laughed again, "Ah, you still have quite a mouth on you then, hmm? Well, not matter, sticks and stones won't break _my_ bones." An eerie smile lit up his face, "But . . . Yours are another matter."

Dean couldn't help but scream as the bones in his left arm snapped, piercing the flesh at an odd angle that made him feel sick. The demon cackled with glee, "Oh how long I've waited to do this! I thought you'd be more trouble after that angel's blood on the door but-"

"Angel's blood?" Dean echoed hoarsely, at a loss as to what he was referring to, speaking through gritted teeth as he watched the blood drip down his arm and to the floor.

The demon tilted his head to the side, "You didn't put it there?" he frowned, contemplating the child before him. "Then some angel's been sniffing around you again. That won't do." He shrugged, "Though I'm sure they'll leave when they find nothing but a dead body in the morning."

From upstairs, Sam squeezed his eyes shut and covered Adam's ears as he heard Dean scream a second time. "Please," he whispered, shoulders shaking, "someone help my brother. He's hurt. Please . . ." Tears welled in his eyes as a third scream made it's way up the stairs, "If there's a god out there you'd help him!" he wailed, tucking Adam to his chest as the baby began to whimper.

The paperboy was on his way home from a friend's house when he heard the third scream from Dean Winchester, and he dropped his bag on the sidewalk, making a beeline for the house he'd lingered at that morning. He growled in frustration to find that the door was locked, and he slammed his full weight against it, forcing the aging hinges to cave and snap, the door falling inwards. His feet led him down the hall to a small office and he halted in the doorway, his whole frame shaking with a fury he couldn't understand. Someone was hurting that child he'd sworn to protect. _No_. When exactly had he sworn such a thing? He couldn't recall doing so, but his body moved on it's own.

The demon whirled on the intruder dark eyes focusing on him as he took a step back. The other couldn't have been no more than seventeen, but the way he was standing suggested that he was much older, his fists clenched at his sides and his blue eyes blazing with utter furry. Dean lay motionless on the floor, blood pooling underneath him from a wound on his arm where bone clearly protruded, and two more on his right leg. He looked up for a second as the older teen entered, before he slumped against the carpet again, breathing shallow.

The creature inhabiting the store clerk's body shuddered with fear at the look in the intruder's eyes and took another step back. "You hurt him," the boy whispered, his voice breaking with pent up anger and anguish.

"No," the demon denied though the evidence was clear as day.

"You hurt him," he repeated, not moving from where he stood, his eyes trained on the demon. The demon shook his head, and the boy stiffened, "You hurt him!" he shrieked. While the words had sounded completely normal in his head, out loud they resounded through the room like a high pitched shriek, a window on the wall to his right shattering. The demon screamed, clutching at his head just before his eyes lit with fire, a black smoke pouring from his mouth to seep into the floor creating a singed circle at his feet.

Dean whimpered as strong hands lifted him from his curled position on the ground, a soothing voice whispering in his ear that everything was going to be okay. He shook his head, "Sam and Adam-"

"I'll get them," the voice promised, and a wash of calm flowed over Dean at the words. For the next few minutes he could faintly hear the shuffle of people moving around him, though he could not bring himself to open his eyes. A car was started that he could have sworn was the old rusty one they kept out back, but still he didn't look to make sure, lulled by the sound of Sam and Adam's steady breathing not far from where he lay.

When he regained total consciousness he was laying in a hospital bed, his arm and both of his legs elevated over his head, wrapped tight in plaster he checked his surroundings for a long moment before he caught sight of Sam and Adam curled up on the chair beside the bed and sighed with relief before he closed his eyes again. The details of what exactly had happened had become hazy in his mind, all he really remembered was that it had _hurt_. But it didn't any longer, and for that he was grateful.

It couldn't have been more than a few minutes later when he heard the door to the room creak open and the shuffle of feet on linoleum floor. A familiar hand rested on his forehead and he relaxed under the touch as a voice spoke, unaware that he was not really asleep. "We shouldn't have left them alone so long, John."

His fathers voice was thick with regret, and sounded rather strained, "And let that Windego run loose around this town forever? We had to make a choice, Mary."

"But-"

"As long as he has that mark on his left arm he will always be protected," John whispered. Dean shivered as subtly as he could as his father pulled the sleeve of his hospital gown up to his shoulder. He knew the mark well, one he'd been born with. It was puffed and burn-like, and he'd tried to ignore it for the better part of his life since he had no real explanation for it. A burn scar shaped like a hand print forever seared into his skin. He wondered why it mattered now, of all times.

Dean knew his mother was nodding in agreement as the silence stretched just before the door opened with a squeak once again. He shivered as he felt a new pair of eyes rest on him but kept his own tightly closed. "He's all right then?" it was the same voice that had promised him the safety of his brothers.

"He'll be fine," John said after a moment, "Thank you."

"I came to late," the other murmured softly. "There was so much blood and-"

"You came just in time, is a better way of saying it," Dean could almost hear the reassuring smile in his father's voice. "We're glad that you're still looking out for him."

"I don't . . ." The speaker faltered, confusion clear in his tone. "I don't know what you mean. I just . . . They hurt him . . ." A tinge of rage filtered through and Dean almost cracked open an eye at the protective air that had settled from it.

"And you protected him," John said softly. "Don't question it now, it took us years to figure such a thing out. But please . . . If you'd just keep an eye out for him and the boys from now on we'd be eternally grateful."

"I'll do what I can," the reply was almost inaudible.

"Castiel?" It was his mother's voice this time.

"Yes?"

"You don't remember at all . . . Do you."

The other paused with thought for a long moment before he spoke again, "I don't know what you mean."

Dean allowed his eyes to open a tiny bit as he heard his parents lead the stranger out of the room, allowing himself to catch sight of only the older boy's back as he left, a bloodstained, heavy trench coat nearly touching the ground in his wake. The sight felt like dejavu to him, though he couldn't figure out why as he drifted off, calmed by the feeling of safety the boy's words had left lingering in the room.

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

Hmmm . . . So today I found out that there's a whole following of people that hate Castiel and the Apocalypse arc. D: well, as one of the thousands of Misha's Minions, I hate all of them. So XP

Anywho . . . I also found out that the final ep of season 5 is called Swan's Song. Which greatly saddens me since it basically spells out Castiel's death right then and there. A Swan's Song is the final song of a swan as it dies. And who is the swan in SPN? Yah, it's Cass. Though there's much debate that it will be Adam or Sam now, and I'm pining for Sam since we know he, being a Winchester, will come back just fine. And I freaking love Adam and want him to stick around so much longer, Cass too obviously. And if they kill Castiel, no matter how epic they make it, I will rally an army to go and slay whoever decided he should die. With Misha at it's head. = 3=

Buuutt . . . If they give us an admission of Cass's love for Dean, or better yet, a Destiel kiss, I will concede and sit quietly after I'm done bawling my eyes out. But I think he should come back in season 6 then. Though I'm also pining for an ending where he's returned to power in heaven and still visits Dean in dreams or helps out now and then. Or better yet, he falls completely like he's been doing and takes up the hunt with them like in SO many fanfics. :3 but this is turning out to be my revenge fic for Cass's 50% chance death, basically. Ha, see, I totally talked about the fic at the end there. Win.

Oh, and the song for this chapter is Summer Sunshine, obviously. :] I thought it fit the brotherlyness in the chapter as well as Castiel's saving of young Dean near the end.


End file.
